


concrete wall

by somethingradiates



Series: smoke signals [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-18 12:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21760651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingradiates/pseuds/somethingradiates
Summary: Flo actually calls back to the office.  That’s Jim’s first indication that something is weird.“Chief,” she says, “there’s somebody up here that wants to talk to you.  Says he’d like to report a stolen car.”
Series: smoke signals [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1568332
Comments: 2
Kudos: 240





	concrete wall

**Author's Note:**

> a missing scene from [smoke signals](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21750184), set between chapters nine and ten.

Flo actually calls back to the office. That’s Jim’s first indication that something is weird. 

“Chief,” she says, “there’s somebody up here that wants to talk to you. Says he’d like to report a stolen car.” 

Fuck, Jim thinks. Of course. It’s been a nice, slow, warm Friday, and it’s been dead enough over the last two hours that he’s really gotten it in his head that he’s leaving early and letting everybody else run the show until five. Thought maybe he’d head out of Joyce’s, take a look at her car; she’d said it’s been making clunking noises. Maybe he’d stay for dinner. Of course he’d get a stolen car report. 

“Sure,” he says into the receiver. “Send ‘em back.” 

He’s not about to put out his cigarette, but he takes his feet off the desk, at least. He’s a good enough cop for that. 

He does stand up to shake the guy’s hand, though, because that actually is something you’re supposed to do when you’re the police chief. “Jim Hopper,” he says. “Don’t think we’ve met.” 

“Neil Hargrove,” the guy says, and that name sounds familiar but Jim can’t place why. Jim studies him for a moment after they both take their respective seats; he’s a big guy ,not Jim’s size but definitely no runt. Nondescript, though, sandy hair and a neatly-trimmed mustache, nice enough clothes for Hawkins. Not a blue-collar type, even though he’s got a remarkably firm handshake. Maybe Jim’s seen him at the bank, or something. 

“So, Mr. Hargrove,” Jim says. “Hear you’ve got a missing car.” 

“Stolen car,” Neil corrects calmly. 

“Alright,” Jim says after a moment. “What’s the make and model?” He’s got his notepad out of his chest pocket but has to hunt for a goddamn pen. 

“1978 Chevrolet Camaro,” Neil says, and waits for him to write that down, watches him go down a line. “Black. California license plates, PCE 235, Paul Charles Edward 2-3-5.” 

Jim glances up from his paper. His own guys don’t know their full radio alphabet unless they’ve got scratch paper in front of them. “Retired?” 

Neil smiles thinly. “I am,” he says. “Old habits.” 

“Yeah,” Jim says, and looks at him for just a moment longer. He wouldn’t have placed him as a retired cop. He looks too young, for one thing, maybe mid-fifties, but he might just be in good shape. “Go ahead.” 

“Cloth interior,” Neil continues, as though he hadn’t been interrupted at all. “Manual transmission. Light body damage, mostly scratches in the paint.” 

“When was the last time you saw it?” If it’s been more than a couple of days, surely this guy knows there’s no hope. Missing cars and missing kids both have a time window, and the missing car’s is shittier. 

“This morning.” Neil clears his throat. “It was in my driveway when I left for work and gone when I came home.” 

Jim writes _04/04/84_ and sets his pen down. At least a Camaro won’t be too hard to find in Hawkins - although if someone was ballsy enough to steal it out of a driveway, they’re probably long gone by now. “Any leads on who might have taken it?” 

“My son,” Neil says stiffly. “He made the decision to leave our home, but his vehicle is still in my name. I’ve been trying to sell it. I’ve had the keys since he left, but I assume he hotwired it this afternoon.” 

“Your son got a name?” 

“William. He prefers Billy.” 

Billy, Jim thinks, Billy Hargrove with the black Camaro, son of a bitch, why didn’t he - _fuck_ , he thinks. 

None of it shows on his face. He’s a good enough cop for that. “What’s your angle if I find your kid with this car?” 

Neil looks at him for a moment. “You’re the chief of police,” he says finally, “and he’s a thief. My _angle_ is that you arrest him like you would anyone else that stole a vehicle.” 

Jim gets up and shuts the office door. His hands are shaking a little, reacting to his sudden flush of adrenaline and contempt and rage all rolled into one neat little package sitting hot and hungry in his chest. He hadn’t seen Billy Hargrove until almost a week after Harrington said he’d called Joyce, and he’d still looked half dead. Jim had been able to tell that just from the glimpse he’d gotten - Billy had disappeared into Harrington’s kitchen like a fucking ghost as soon as he realized who Jim was. 

When he sits back down, Neil Hargrove hasn’t moved an inch, but he’s watching him light his cigarette. His hands are steady by then. 

“Alright, Neil - you don’t mind if I call you Neil, right? Good - we’re gonna have a talk, man to man.” Jim takes a deep drag off of his cigarette. “Cop to cop.” 

Neil doesn’t say anything. 

“I know exactly why your kid left,” Jim says calmly, and leans forward. Something flickers in Neil’s face, something tightening up around his eyes. “I know _exactly_ what you did to him, and the only reason you haven’t been in a fuckiin’ cell in county for the last two weeks is because your kid _begged_ me not to haul you in. You understand that?” 

“Yes,” Neil says after an agonizingly long moment. If his voice was stiff earlier it’s nothing compared to now. 

“So,” Jim says, “I’m not doing shit about your car. As far as I’m concerned, your kid earned it. Get the fuck outta my office.” 

To his credit, Neil Hargrove seems just as calm getting up to leave as he did coming in. He’s almost to the door when Jim says, like an afterthought, “Oh, by the way, Neil?” 

He turns around. Jim’s a little surprised. 

“I’m keeping an eye on your wife and her kid,” he says, keeps his voice neutral and friendly. “You know, Billy, he said you never laid a hand on either one of them, and that’s great, but shitbags like you don’t change. I see a fuckin’ scraped knee on that kid, I’m coming after you.” 

Neil doesn’t say anything. Jim stares at him, and thinks about Sara. 

“Do you understand me?” 

“Yes.” Neil says it through teeth gritted so tight they seem in danger of breaking. Jim can think of a hundred better ways to break Neil Hargrove’s teeth. 

“Good,” Jim says. “You enjoy the rest of your day.”

Neil Hargrove slams the door on his way out. Jim watches him pull out of the station’s parking lot until he loses sight of him altogether.


End file.
